30 Seconds of You

I closed my eyes and the flashback hit me. I went on a 30 second-trip down the memory lane. I saw the broken promises, I reread our late night conversations. I saw it all and the background music was a heartbreaking playlist you once made for me. Every beat, every verse, every word, they all reminded me of you. They all reminded me of us. They reminded me of how we used to be, how we've always wanted to be. I remembered how every small achievement of mine made you proud. I remembered how you wiped my tears with your tenderness, how you would've stayed up late tonight to cheer me up. I remembered the little things you did, the smallest details you loved about me. It seemed too good to be true. I saw the stars we would've named, the skylines we would've drawn. I saw the places we could've gone to, I saw our wildest dreams. I saw the past, the present and the future that was once possible and all I have left to say is that I don't regret this. Even though every promise was broken, even though you weren't able to keep them, I'd like to thank you. I'd like to thank you for giving me the best time of my entire life. And that was when I woke up and opened my eyes.

My Aching Soul

I can't breathe. The fact that air is coming in and out doesn't mean I am. I’m physically breathing, yes. I am physically alive, yes. But the real question here, does it feel like so? 

I’ve been living with this ache for a while now, time by time the pain grows bigger and bigger. Every single day it eats up a part of me, it engulfs a portion of my soul. I can’t stop it and I don’t understand where it came from, it’s unexplainable. The harder I try to breathe, the harder it gets; oxygen just feels toxic. The harder I try to overcome it and the harder I try to get back on my feet, it comes back for me to knock me down. I try to make use of the negative energy thrown at me, I try to make hatred be my incentive to move forward, my power boost, but it just doesn't work. It keeps haunting me down instead. I have no capacity for anything or anyone, it left me drained and consumed. I have no more energy left to fight, I don’t really care anymore. Even though it hurts me to end up on my own, it’s much better than being judged by the ones I loved the most. Those I gave everything, they just didn’t understand, they won’t understand. I’m not asking them to, but at least they would’ve given me some time, I wish they never abused me. Abuse came in many different forms I wish I never got to experience. I wish they never judged me, I wish they never took me for granted. I wish they never used me and I wish they never left me by my own when I pushed everyone else away. I wish they supported me instead of neglecting my tiny little achievements. I wish they encouraged me and told me how worthy I am. I wish they hugged me whenever I needed a comfort hug. I wish they stayed whenever I needed company. I wish they bothered to call.

But not everything we ask for comes true. 

I Believer in Her

My body is numb. My head’s about to explode. All I can feel is the emptiness eating up my soul. I can feel my heartbeats and a stinging pain in my stomach. I can hear the clock ticking so loud along with the screaming voices in my head. I can feel the blood moving through my veins and I can see nothing at all. Void, emptiness and the urge to break the screen of my laptop. All I want for now is for all of this to end. Or at least curl up in my bed, fall asleep and only wake up when it does. I can’t stand waiting, waiting for the unknown. The sight of myself in the mirror breaks me even more. She makes me want to turn my mirror into shattered glass, that new cold reflection of mine I’m speaking of. I miss the old me, I can’t deny that I do. I miss how she knew how to love and give, how to let go and forgive. I miss the smile that never left her face, she smiled no matter how many haters gave her a million reasons not to. I miss how vivid and alive she was. Her quirky laugh and goofy attitude. I miss her spontaneous acts and her little things. I miss her self confidence and sense of security. I miss the way she was, perfectly imperfect. With all her flaws, she knew how to live. But most importantly, she knew how to love herself. But they hated on her so hard, she backfired. She couldn’t have done anything better than distancing herself and turning her heart so cold. As much as she seems broken and weak, she’s not. Nothing can break her, she’s aware of that. And maybe her ways of saying that aren’t so proper, but she’ll find the way back. She just needs some guidance or at least some light at the end of the tunnel. It’s there, but she probably hasn't seen it yet. She might not get back to how she used to be but she’ll learn to be better. Even if she’s not the same, learning from the past will make her stronger. I miss her badly but I know she’ll be back, I believe in her. I believe in me.

Her Intoxicating Drug

She found herself lost between her head and heart. The doors were all closed and all the paths looked similar. She couldn’t take a step forward nor a step backwards, she stood still for so long. Insecure, confused and empty. This is how she was. She found herself alone between the walls of her fortress, the fortress she built to keep people like you away. But somehow, you made it through her walls. So strong, yet so fragile in front of you. She tried so hard to push you away but she couldn’t. That bittersweet feeling was irresistible. She was so mad at herself she didn’t mind to see how it goes. “How can it get any worse?”, she thought to herself. She thought the pain was her new best friend and more or less of it wouldn’t matter anymore, as long as it satisfied at this particular moment. It was like a drug moving through her bloodstream all the way through her veins. It felt good back then, but the consequences turned out to be even worse than she thought. She thought she could control it, but it controlled her. You drugged her so hard but sadly, you fooled her even harder. She fell for your games, she fell so hard. And even though she regrets it right now, she enjoyed every second of it. But the game is over now. Sometimes you just got to let go. You have to let go when your sweetest dreams turn into your worst nightmares. Because after all, every addict has to make a choice at some point. Either to break free from the chains of that sweet toxic drug, or to die alone. She chose not to die now, she wasn’t ready yet. She’s willing to go through hell so she could feel alive again.

Everybody Wants to Rule the World

By the time you read this you’ll come to realise that you’re all alone, or almost. Everybody distanced themselves from you, they all changed. That leaves us with two options, either you’re wired wrong or that everybody wants to rule the world. Rule what? Yes, the world. Each and every one of us likes the sense of achievement, success. It just feels great, but you know what feels even better? Being number one, being on top of the world, the best. Well that’s completely normal, but then it starts becoming unhealthy when people hate seeing you moving forward. It’s not because you’re just moving forward, it’s because you’re moving faster. They like to be the best, that means that everybody else needs to come second, including you. They won’t like seeing you doing better than them, they won’t like it and they won’t accept it. They’ll change, they won’t treat you the same way. They won’t get excited when they see you; instead, they’ll be turn their backs away. They’ll replace you with other people that make them feel better about themselves, make them feel superior because they never felt that with you. Never did and never will. Why? Because their ego will destroy them and their pride will eat up their souls. Their arrogance and their hatred will sabotage every opportunity they can seize to reach success. But most importantly, because you’ll never back down. That won’t stop you from moving forward. In fact, that should move you forward even faster. People don’t hate on you because they dislike you, it’s because they want to be YOU. 

From Cloud Nine to Rock Bottom

I've always wondered if right things really did happen at wrong timings. Is that true or is it nothing but our own way to lie to ourselves? But why do we even lie in the first place? To soothe the pain or escape reality? I'm quite aware that we both came together at the worst time of our lives, but I'm not quite sure whether this is a good or a bad thing. I believe it was a good thing at first, at least to me it was. Someone being there for me when no one else was, going through everything for me. That was more than enough. But now what? With all of this falling apart? With you being my pain and my cure, my curse and my remedy, my strength and my weakness, now what? How am I supposed to keep on going on with us turning from this into that? This is simply mentally exhausting. I need to figure out my next step and I have no clue in which direction should it be. A step back, a step back from you, from us? I've already tried that, you wouldn't let go of me. Well maybe a step forward, but to where? We're already moving backwards with all the downs we're facing. Shoving each other away when we should be facing the high tides together. We turned into a time bomb, ready to blow up any second. We're becoming self-destructive. We've become toxic. What happened? What brought us down all the way from cloud nine to hit rock bottom. Maybe right things only happen at the right times after all.

Begging You

Never beg someone for their presence in your life. If they care enough, they’ll manage to be there by your side, they’ll manage to share every single moment. Only if they care. Don’t beg for someone to make time for you, they can fit you in their lives if they want. Don’t beg for them to appreciate the things you do to make them happy. Don’t beg for them to see the sparkle in your eyes, notice the crack in your voice or feel the goosebumps on your skin. Don’t beg for them to offer you the attention you deserve because they probably don’t deserve the attention they’re getting. The right person will make time for you, will respect you and will cherish the moments spent with you. The right person will not take your for granted and won’t hide you in the dark. The right person will fall in love with your imperfections and your insecurities. He’ll seem right when everything else seems wrong. He’ll notice the small details and shower you with the little things. That person will always be there even if you don’t want them to. No matter how hard you push him away, he’ll stick around. That one will not keep on telling you how much you mean, he’ll prove it. He’ll prove it with his actions, not his words. That right person will know your worth, so don’t go beg someone to give you what you deserve. 

What Didn't Kill Me

What doesn't kill us doesn’t necessarily make us stronger. This is nothing but a damned lie. 

What doesn’t kill us might leave us scarred, broken and messed up. Scars don’t fade away even if they heal by time, scars remain to remind us with these incidents that almost killed us. Broken people remain broken, even if they learn how to love life again. You can never fix shattered glass. And finally, a mess is sometimes meant to remain a mess. No matter how many times you clean your room, once you become a messy person, it will find its way back. Look at me, I’ve been almost killed for lots of times; metaphorically of course. I’ve been stabbed in the back over and over again, I made wrong decisions and I loved the wrong ones. As I grew up, my trust issues grew up with me. I burned my bridges so no one would be able to come back, I built my walls so high so no one would climb them and I built them so strong so no one would be able to knock them down. I thought I grew stronger but I grew to be more afraid. Afraid to take chances, afraid to trust and afraid to love.

What didn't kill me didn’t make me stronger, I forced myself to be stronger. I don’t take no for an answer, I can’t stand failure and I don’t speak fear. Even if fear became a part of me one way or another, I had to bury my insecurities somewhere beneath my skin. They manage to reveal themselves from time to time when I breakdown or just lose it but I just couldn’t let myself fall. Strong is a choice. Strong is a decision. I made it and I chose it. I chose it because I had no other option. Weak is not an option, at least in my case. And although I might be living my most vulnerable moments, I chose not to be self-destructive. I lost my way, we all do. I’ll close my eyes and have faith that someday I’ll be able to find my way back. Even if it will take years or even if I have to lie to myself. All I need now is to learn not to be afraid to get myself killed, because seriously, what could possibly go wrong this time? It doesn’t hurt anymore.

A City Girl’s Adventure in the Nubian Village

“Coming to realise that my teenage days are almost over, I decided that they needed a proper farewell. Age is just a number and I’ll definitely stay young at heart. But as far as I know, time will start slipping by the moment I graduate. At first, I thought of a list of things to do before I turn 20 but packing and booking an airplane ticket seemed like a better idea to me. Traveling solo will definitely lead to a much better list of firsts. So here I am Nubia!”

So this was what I wrote earlier this month, the last days of me being a teenager. Having mixed feelings ranging from excitement because of my first traveling solo experience; especially after 4 years of complete jinx, to utter sadness due to the fact that I’m growing up. That paragraph reflected how much I was willing to change those negative feelings into an unforgettable experience. And it really was an unforgettable one indeed, that’s the only thing I could guarantee.

It all started a few hours before my plane took off, nausea. I didn’t pay much attention to the feeling to be honest, I personally thought I might have been nervous deep down inside. Because no matter how much I seem to be strong and independent on the outside, there’s a fragile kid on the inside that needs to feel needy from time to time. But most importantly, I never paid that feeling much attention because I could have never imagined what happened next. I actually never experienced the act of vomiting before. I don’t personally count throwing up for a couple of times on one day when I was about the age of 7 as a vomiting experience. The whole thing was new to me, and that was my very first “first” in the Nubian village. I’ve had rough four days of gastroenteritis. I couldn’t eat, my body wasn’t just accepting food and my taste buds were definitely malfunctioning. Adding to that, that the food there wasn’t so motivating either and there was nowhere else to eat. It was either the food at the guesthouse or just starve to death since mini-markets lacked snacks other than chips. The only restaurants were at the city, which also served terrible food. I also had a hard time finding a pharmacy and finding meds wasn’t easy either as almost everything is unavailable. They only had basics of basics. Thanks to that, I got the only medication I found without noticing that it was only available in the form of pills; my greatest nightmare. Yes, I’m 20 and I don’t know how to swallow pills. I can barely swallow tablets and it took me so long to be able to do so as well. However, since this was my adventure of firsts, this was my very first pill, and my last. Despite all the struggles I’ve faced, I fought hard. I’m a strong girl after all and I just wouldn’t let that get in my way. I lived day by day and tried to get the best of everyday despite my lack of energy caused by the lack of food. I’ve visited places, took a boat ride all over Aswan and visited Nubian homes. Nubians are quite known for their hospitality and generosity but knowing that is not like experiencing it. They’re far more generous than what you’ve been ever told. I had to try things I never liked or never thought of trying just because they offer you everything every single second of your visit. I had my first cup of water from a cask, my first cup of Gabbana which is a type of Sudanese coffee (it was terrible by the way) and believe it or not, I’ve had my very first full cup of tea. 

On my first couple of days, I’ve been wandering around the village with the guesthouse’s owner and a friend of his who’s been staying there as well. By the third day, I made two new friends who happened to be Alexandrians who live in Cairo. On that day, we got the nerve to go exploring on our own. We felt that activities were extremely overpriced and that we’ve been treated as tourists, or probably just a bunch of girls who won’t be able to move around on their own without any kind of guidance. But against all odds, we did. Three city girls still in college wandering around in a village looking for any means of transportation to take them to the other bank of the Nile, to the city of Aswan. We walked a long distance in a sun-burning weather to finally find a microbus that would take us there. And here it was, my first microbus ride ever taking me to the first stop of disappointment. We’ve decided to visit Elephantine Island at first, so the driver dropped us somewhere to take a boat to the island. According to books and the internet, Elephantine was one of two most attractive islands that divide the Nile South of Aswan and that it was one the greatest spots one could take pictures at. And that was everything we never found on that island. The island was flooded by sheep and goats, small kiosks on the left side of a pathway and nothing other than Nubian kids playing around among the ruins. We tried exploring but wherever we went, we only found ruins, ruins and ruins. We went back to ask an old man at one of the kiosks and in a very confused way we asked him that silly question, “Excuse me, but how can we go to Elephantine Island please?”. And his answer was “Well, this is Elephantine! Oh, I get it. Umm, you girls turn left and you’ll find a couple of Nubian houses with nice designs that you can take pictures of. You’ll also find a museum next to these houses, but don’t bother to go in, you’ll find nothing.” We stood still for a second. Although we were confused because we just came back from the way he just described, we went back there. As we moved forward, we did see a couple of houses from a distance, but they weren’t worth the walk. The houses back in the village were much more beautifully designed. So we decided not burn daylight and get back to do something else. Crossed Elephantine off the list and took the only picture there, the picture of the marvellous view. By then, I started feeling sick and dizzy again. I barely eat, remember? So we went to a restaurant nearby so we could eat anything other than what we normally do. I ordered soup and grilled Kebabs and despite the fact that it came an hour late or something, the food was burnt and I had to wait for another plate. By then, we missed the chance to visit the Temple of Philae. Therefore, we went to the very well known Bazaar of Aswan and there we were disappointed for the second time in a row. I remember going there as a kid, as vague and blurry the memory of the place was but I remember it was a Khan El Khalili-like bazaar. We got in and again we thought that we were lost. The place was close enough to a wider Mansheya. Flip flops, pyjamas, herring, fruits and vegetables, you name it. And again, we thought that wasting our time there was a bad idea so we took off to Michael’s Coptic Cathedral of Aswan. It was breathtaking from the outside and we just couldn’t wait to take pictures but of course, a bad incident had to follow. A police officer wouldn’t let us in. He sounded hesitated, gave no reasons but don’t we all know why? Moving on, we walked all the way to the Nubian Museum and on our way I finally saw the most beautiful thing I laid eyes on from the beginning of the day. There was that bright, colourful wall beautifully designed, I just couldn’t stop taking pictures of it. This was where I took the only pictures of myself on that trip. By the end of that wall was the Nubian Museum, but don’t jump to conclusions that fast. We actually got in. I don’t prefer to give a review about the place since I’m not much of a history museums kind of person. I would’ve preferred exploring new places with wonderful sceneries, colours and stories to tell. Our day came to an end and we took a ride back home with the least expenses (much less than we would’ve paid if we were on a tour, more than half of the money for God’s sake). We were back at the guesthouse by 7 or 8, yes we never had anything to do at night. An hour later, there was a knock on my door. I was invited to a so-called “party” at the house I spent the night before. I changed my clothes, told the girls and we all went to that house. Yay, finally nightlife at the Nubian Village! A bunch of singers sat together pleasing our ears with the tunes of the Oud offering us a one of a kind show. Other people were enjoying the night at the house as well, just like us. They offered Gabbana, fruit salad and hookah to everyone, your mouth is never left empty in this place. We danced and sang along and despite the fact that it turned into a Mounir concert, it was fun. Speaking of Mounir, I probably skipped that story. As you all know, The King is Nubian and they’re

all proud of him. But the fact that they literally listen to nothing but him just got on my nerves. Every single car, house, shop, boat, they all had to have a speaker that’s playing his songs. Even the guesthouse I was staying at, it’s called Hadouta Masreya. Every room has a name not a number; a song’s name of course, and the lyrics of that song is written on the bedroom’s wall. My room’s name was “Ya Leila Oudy Tany”. The man’s a legend, let’s all agree on that. But the dose was just too much. Getting back to the night of the party, we stayed to the very end since we’re party animals of course. We got back home afterwards and made plans for my very last day. But guess what? I ended up at the village on my own and didn’t go to the Temple of Philae for a tour and a Light and Sound show there at night as planned. Dizziness along with lack of energy and the burning sun was just unbearable especially after a a very rough sleepless night. I was very sick the night after the party and barely had any sleep so of course all I could think of was that I needed to recover somehow because I couldn’t bear the risk to be taken to the hospital. So I decided to stay, the plans we made were tiring and involved moving a lot, in addition to the fact that we had no idea where we would have lunch. I didn’t want to ruin their trip, after all, I’ve only known them for a day so they’re not obligated to take me back to the guesthouse in case I get more sick. I asked the chef to prepare for me some soup, poached chicken and brown bread. I spent the whole day on warm lemon juice and bread and by time I started getting better. I went to the bazaar in the village for one last time and bought souvenirs for my friends and family. Speaking of the bazaar, I’d like to recommend a specific store to whoever is planning on stopping by Garb Seheil in the future. I don’t usually do this but this is my favourite store by far. Not only because Ayman; the owner, charges the lowest prices, but he’s probably the kindest and friendliest person in the village. You might find it a small store with a lower variety than the other ones but besides that they sell with more than triple the price, if you look carefully you’ll find unique items that I assure you you won’t find elsewhere. Maybe what I liked the most is that most of these items were ethnic bohemian ones, so that would probably be the place for you if we have the same taste. The store is right in front of Anakato 3 , it currently has no name but Ayman is thinking of naming it “Beit Bakar” Just go there and tell him you’re a friend of mine and you’ll probably get a proper discount and a couple of nice gifts like I did. I got amazing wall decor; a small Africano coloured mask and an elephant mask. I also got a small notebook with an elephant on it, combining my obsession with both quirky notebooks and elephants. Ayman gave me a blue pen with the shape of a boy and a purple thread bracelet as a nice gesture.

I took off to the airport at dawn and on the plane the lady that sat next to me asked me why did I go to Aswan and if i was actually there on my own. She was very impressed that I went on this adventure-like trip on my own. Not just her, but even a lady on the train on my way back from Cairo to Alexandria asked me the same question and was shocked I was also travelling solo. I really have no clue why everyone suddenly started asking, especially on the train. Like it wasn’t my first time to go to Cairo alone. People’s reactions motivated me though, whether positive or negative, they kind of gave me a push. I’m now someone who’s open to new experiences, chit-chats with strangers on the train or the plane, new places with different cultures. I’m now open to making new friends, even those with different social backgrounds, those I might never meet again or even those I might never get the chance to know their names. I learned that I need to take chances, I need to be able to step out of my comfort zone because even if my trip eventually sucked I’m proud of my list of firsts, my list of new experiences. Stepping out of my comfort zone wasn’t necessarily something bad, it taught me that I need to travel with all kinds of medications from now on, but it also taught me that I will always be able to surprise myself. It taught me that I can be stronger than I already am and that it’s okay to feel fragile and in need from time to time. I just needed to know when and how to get back on my feet. I can’t call myself a changed person though, they were only four days after all. But I can say that I’m the same old me but with some modifications. I’m now someone who’s eager to have more stories. Stories about people, about places, about obstacles and about achievements. I’m now someone looking for more stories, stories that will define who I am, stories that will shape my future. Even if they’re short stories not novels. Story after story, a new me will be born. After all, my old stories turned me into the person I’m proud to call myself today. Maybe, I just never paid attention to them and looked at them as scars rather than stories worth telling. I now know that I need to be more open about my own stories and never regret they happened and maybe the story of the city girl’s adventure in the Nubian village would be one among many to come. 

The End.

Hot Mess

There's a struggle inside my head, the loud thoughts and screaming voices.
Constantly under pressure, torn between choices, torn between what I want, what I desire
and what I should do. I don't know what I should worry about the most. My never ending
journey of self discovery or the people that never fail to let me down? Those people I need
to accept that they're part of my life I need to cope with? Or those I need to accept that they're
not an essential part of it on the contrary? Or maybe worry about the opportunities I keep on
missing or the bad choices I keep on making? Well, at least I know I shouldn't be worrying 
about any obstacle that aims to bring me down. I know nothing can bring me down, nothing 
could break me. I am strong. I am indeed, but don't I have the right to run out of breath, give 
up for a few minutes and simply scream at the top of my lungs expressing how exhausted I 
am? I promise I'd get back to how strong I was but I just need a break, only if I could. Only if 
my lips could utter the words unspoken. Only if I could rebel, rebel against my insecurities, 
rebel against my comfort zone. And rebel against my own self. I'm sick of how troubled my 
soul is, how messed up my mind has gotten. Sick of the stubborn perfectionist I am and the 
hot mess I became. Sick of everything I used to love about me. My quirky laugh and attitude, 
my scattered thoughts that make complete nonsense sound like the most radical ideas ever. 
My weird habits like spreading ketchup on each french fry like toothpaste or eating the 
green vegetables first from my salad. My annoying attention to details and analyzing them. 
My different perspective and how I like to see things upside down. The way I see art in almost 
everything flawed, the way I see perfection in imperfect. And the way I see good in people. 
I'm sick of it all. I'm sick of constantly not knowing the way out of this, not knowing what to 
do. I guess it's all because I don't know what I actually want. But how can I? I've given so 
much thought about it but I still have no clue. Maybe it's time to stop thinking and start acting? 
Or in other words, start trying? But I'm scared to try, I'm scared of stepping out of my comfort 
zone and I keep on waiting for you to comfort me. I'm waiting for your pat on my shoulder, 
your soothing voice that once kept on telling me how beautiful my messed up mind was. 
Waiting for you to tell me that everything's going to be just fine and that I can definitely 
overcome it, because you know how strong I am and that you have faith in me. And as this 
gets more and and more cliché; although I hate clichés, nothing would ever sound as a better 
idea.